


One by sorry one (I let you down)

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bullied Jaskier | Dandelion, Bullying, Bullying entailing:, Depression, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fear, Gen, Good Friend Eskel (The Witcher), Have fun lol, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier | Dandelion is Called Julian, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PLEASE HEED THE TAGS, Physical Abuse, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Regret, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Sad with a Happy Ending, To Be Edited, Verbal Abuse, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Young Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Young Jaskier | Dandelion, and painful muahahahaha, but legible id say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: “You ruined a boy’s mind, Geralt, drove him to near-insanity with fear. He trusts none and is afraid of all, and his eyes—” Vesemir doesn’t need to finish the sentence, Geralt’s seen it himself. Blues that’d shined so brightly with curiosity, with hope that he’d wanted to beat it out of him. And now that he has, Julian’s eyes are lackluster, devoid of emotion, half-disconnected from their world at all times unless he’s training.What has he done?Or, Julian is too bright, too happy, and Geralt beats it out of him, jealous of his innocence and Life. He ends up breaking the boy in the wake of his hatred; Geralt's left, swamped with guilt and shame, and has no idea how to fix what he's ruined.
Relationships: Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Lambert & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 64
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

Julian is loud. So fucking loud, never shuts up and Geralt _hates_ it. While the rest of them are miserable, beaten black and blue from training, a mess of scars and wounds, Julian doesn’t have a scratch on him. Of course, he’s only been here for a day, a young boy at the age of thirteen, untouched by the trials. But even as the others from his batch cried for their mothers, Julian only comforted them, telling jokes as they settle into their rooms. He’s _unafraid_ , Geralt realizes. He himself is on duty to show the new little brats around and make sure they don’t walk into anyone’s swords and Julian holds a crying boy’s hand, curiously looking around, chattering as Geralt gives them the tour.

He sneers at the boy when he asks a question, entirely satisfied by the way he startles, though he doesn’t quieten.

Eventually, the boys are led to the small hall, Vesemir waiting to give them the age-old speech of _You were brought here to be witchers. No, you cannot return to your families, we are your family now. Yes, you will become one of the wolves of Kaer Morhen, and no, we do not have candy._

Geralt fucking hates children, unblemished, stupid, hopeful, but oh, he hates Julian worst of all.

~~

“Why do your eyes look like that? Will I be able to smile when I’m a witcher or will I forever be gloomy like you? It’s not a bad look, you are quite… handsome.” Geralt doesn’t bother holding back snarl as he shoves the boy, not two years younger than himself into the wall, growling at him as big blue eyes blink up at his own. Julian’s been following him around _nonstop_ for the past week since they’d first met, and he justs won’t fucking _shut it_. And somehow, it’s delved from a one-sided friendship into some weird sort of _crush_.

“Stop fucking following me,” he growls, cat-like eyes narrowed. Julian’s fucking unflinching, stares _dreamily_ at him.

“You’re so pretty, Geralt,” he whisper, as if it’s a secret just for the two of them to hear and Geralt sees _red_ , doesn’t realize he’s beating Julian to pulp till he’s pulled away, kicking at the boy’s ribs as he’s dragged away by Lambert and Eskel to the other side of the hallway.

Julian looks at him with abject hurt, eyes brimming with tears, lip split and eye bruising as he clutches his stomach.

Geralt grins at him, utterly satisfied that _he’s_ the first one to bruise that the supple skin, beat the first of the moron’s innocence out of him, as he walks away, his friends flanking his sides.

~~ 

Julian seeks him out twice more, once with drying blood on his skin where his sparring partner had managed to scratch him, dirt over his clothes as he runs to catch up with Geralt, who’d been climbing down the stair towards the springs. The idiot looks shy, that fucking light in his eyes that Geralt had lost so long ago shining as he catches up to him.

“Geralt!” He calls, tripping over his feet as he runs down the stairs to meet him, exhaustion after a day of training making him clumsy; he still hasn't gone through the Trial of Grasses, won’t for another year yet. “I wanted to say,” he pants, looking up at Geralt— his lip’s healed but there's a light scar that’ll fade with time, and his eye is more just puffy red than as purple as it was, “I’m sorry about the other day, I should’ve realized you weren't interested in me— or in— boys, I uhm, so sorry about that.” He looks so sheepish, so shy that Geralt can’t help but chuckle, an arm on either side of Julian’s body as he corners him against the wall.

The boy splutters, a flush on his face, so pretty, so stupidly hopeful as Geralt tilts his head, lips nearly brushing against Julian’s. He smiles as he hears the boy’s breath hitch, lips parting to meet his. He stops, just before their lips touch. _“If you think for a second, Julian, that_ anyone _could_ ever even _like you, you are a fucking fool.”_

The scent of heartbreak and tears feels like sugar on Geralt’s tongue as Julian runs back upstairs.

~~ 

It only gets worse from there. Or, better in Gerlat’s case. The bumbling fool quiets more and more each week as Geralt trips him in the lunch hall, food spilling all over himself. The boy’s growing muscle, funnily enough, and Geralt has a wonderful time in the library, mocking his pathetic little arms, calling them noodle-like and prodding at the bare skin till he leaves bruises, slow tears dripping down Julian’s face.

He’s not quite sure why he’s so cruel to the boy, just knows that it’s a reprieve from his own life, his own crying face forgotten as his mother abandons him in favour for Julian’s when Geralt tells him no one could ever like him, that he was so, so stupid for thinking Geralt would, telling him how weak he is.

Eventually, the boy begins retreating, that light finally gone from his eyes, not even bothering to keep up with the multitude of friends he’d made when he’d first gotten here. Of course, their instructors don’t care— Julian actually gets better, quicker and more ruthless that even some part of Gerlat is impressed at how quickly he’s improving.

So impressed that Geralt drags him into his room by his hair, the other boys turning a blind eye as he beats an exhausted Jaskier up till the boy’s passed out before throwing him back into the hallway like the fucking trash he is.

Geralt wants to _kill him._

~~

He nearly does, and Vesemir gives him such a disappointed look that it makes him cower. He knows he’s the witcher’s favourite student, most everyone does, so when Vesemir throws him into the isolation room after running fifty laps around the fortress, Geralt’s anger only grows.

_“You ruined a boy’s mind, Geralt, drove him to near-insanity with fear. He trusts none and is afraid of all, and his eyes—”_ Vesemir doesn’t need to finish the sentence, Geralt’s seen it himself. Blues that’d shined so brightly with curiosity, with _hope_ that he’d wanted to beat it out of him. And now that he has, Julian’s eyes are lackluster, devoid of emotion, half-disconnected from their world at all times unless he’s training.

He visits Julian after swords practice, the sickroom thankfully empty save for a sleeping Hemminks.

The boy is asleep, covered with linen bandages, wrapped around his head, a cast around his neck and wrist and bandages around his chest. He looks _pitiful_ , Geral thinks, _sad._ Innocent. And the anger that hadn’t left his heart since Julian first stepped foot into Kaer Morhen finally gives way to _agony_.

Because, _fuck_. What has he _done?_ Let his annoyance turn into fury, allow his past to consume him till he's nearly killed an innocent _human,_ a child at that _?_ His knees feel weak as he sits onto the bed by Jaskier, head in his hands, tears threatening his eyes. _What has he done, what has he done, what has he done—_

He looks up as he smells the scent of fear, Julian’s eyes wide as he struggles against the IV hooked to his wrist, a pouch of blood attached to it on a stand next to his bed. He looks _exhausted_ , eyes sunken, cheeks hollow.

“Stop,” Geralt murmurs, and Julian _freezes_ in place. He stands, not sure how to face the boy, not sure how he can live with himself after what he’s done. “I’m not here to hurt you— I just… wanted to see how you were doing.” The words sound flat, even to his own ears.

His head hangs as he walks out of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Btw, hope i finish this in like four chapters or please throw me out a window.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt apologizes (and it's not nearly enough).

Shame is an ever-existing feeling in his gut. He doesn’t see Julian, stays away from him for weeks, distracting himself by training for his extra set of mutations.

Eskel comes to sit by him at lunchtime one day, Lambert glancing at Geralt in warning before turning his attention back to Julian, coaxing him to eat, the boy’s jaw still bruised. “You’ve fucked up real bad, Geralt.” Geralt stares at his plate, afraid to meet Eskel’s eye. “Look, we don’t know why you hate him so much but… he doesn’t hate you.”

“I know.” Eskel sits up. 

“Why’re you being such a dick to him, then?” Geralt shrugs. How can he explain that Julian reminds him of everything he’s lost, happiness, hope, and innocence, so much that it makes him jealous enough that he can’t think sometimes. Not that that’s the case anymore. Julian reminds him of himself, now, empty, hollow, and though it should make him gleeful, feel satisfied, he feels… he can’t even put a name to it, he just feels  _ disgusting _ , for ruining something— someone— so beautiful.

He vows to himself to never touch a human again, never involve himself in the matters of mankind.

“Look, Lambert and I still care about you, we’re brothers, right? And family doesn’t give up on each other, so— fuck— come on.” He takes him by the hand, grabs his plate in the other and leads him over to their usual table.

The stench of panic and fear grows stronger with each step, and Julian looks like he’s going to either throw up or run. “We won’t let him hurt you, songbird,” Lambert whispers, and Julian grips his hand so tight that his own nearly goes white, body rigid and eyes cast away as Eskel and Geralt sit down on the opposite side of the table.

Eskel and Lambert carry on conversation as if Jaskier isn’t shaking, gripping Lambert’s hand for dear life, and as if Geralt isn’t staring at him, heart heavy with guilt.

~~

Geralt takes in a deep breath of air, delighting in the peace the night gives him. He’s sat atop a lower roof, staring at the stars, arms tucked under his head. It’s the only moment of peace he can get, when all he feels is guilt and shame and has no idea to go about fixing it. It’s been nearly a month since he’d started sitting with Lambert and Eskel, and though their conversation is sometimes strained and awkward, it feels good to be with his brothers again. 

Jaskier’s panic and fear doesn't give away or calm, even when either Eskel or Lambert sit by him, holding his hand. Not once does he glance at Geralt.  _ Whatever, _ he tries to tell himself,  _ he has more important things to do than worry about a boy _ . It doesn’t work.

The witcher hears the sound of wood cutting through air, a sharp  _ woosh _ followed by a pair of feet landing from a leap. Someone’s sparring in the dark, their body but a shadow save for bright blue eyes. 

_ Jaskier. _

Geralt isn’t sure what possesses him to jump down, lithe on his feet as he reaches for the knife tucked in his boots. It sickens him to think that if Jaskier could see him, he’d fear being carved up, stabbed, but the night is a good cover, and the boy’s sight is still human.

His movements are sure for a greedy interaction in a friendship he can’t even hope to have. Jaskier flits through the air some feet away, ducking, sparring with the air; Geralt runs towards him, blade drawn, slotting himself in place just in time for the wooden sword to meet with the flat edge of his dagger. 

The boy’s eyes widen, caught unawares but they squint into a challenge.

“Gonna go easy on me, Esk? Being knocked onto your arse in the daytime not enough?” Geralt doesn’t reply, heartstring pulled taught with the way the boy smirks, twisting away and dropping to the ground to kick Geralt’s legs out from underneath him. He jumps last second, stunned—  _ is this what I’ve ruined? Who I’ve killed?  _ For he’s never seen Jaskier like this, cocky, playful.

Well, never excluding the first few weeks he’d trailed behind him, sunlight in his sky-blue eyes.

Geralt swallows and jabs forward, careful not to stab the boy; he's a witcher, after all, and he's forced to fight down his instinct to throw quen when the boy dodges and parries. He's  _ good _ . Geralt can say that, he's infamous for his swordsmanship, and without his witcher-y abilities, Julian would be his equal in skill.

"Bring it, witcher," Julian grins, eyes shining, and Geralt is helpless to straighten and stare at him, lips parted. He's smiling— when was the last time Geralt had seen him without fear? It makes him want to curl up, makes him want to fucking  _ die _ for ruining this, for ruining his glow, for snuffing out his light. He runs as the boy comes charging towards him, eyes twinkling under the dull starlight giving away to confusion as the boy realizes he's not dodging, just... running.

"Eskel?" He hears the boy's voice, quiet and growing quieter behind him and he runs faster. 

Runs till he can't hear, can't think, can't breathe, footsteps quiet along steep mountain paths, he runs.

Wolves howl as he bends over, stomach emptying onto the ground in front of him, howl as he falls to his knees and lets shame consume him until he is stone and sinking in a sea of guilt.

Fuck, he's got to fix this. But how  _ can _ he? Where the fuck to start? An apology is for null, Julian won't believe him, and after what Geralt's done, he has no right to expect him to. But has to try, though, doesn't he?

Geralt spends the rest of the night looking for the prettiest flower he can find.

~

It's nearing evening time, and with the distraction of Jaskier plopping down on a bench facing the courtyard, Geralt's hair scortches before a burst of Aard puts out the embers— Eskel's ridiculously good with his signs, and to his delight, Geralt goes flying backwards. 

To Geralt's ever-shitty luck, he's thrown right at Jaskier's feet. They boy'd just come from lessons with Vesemir if the ink stains on his hands are anything to go by— Jaskier startles before he goes limp, back slouching as he looks away. 

A surrender as good as any. He can practically hear the boy's pleas already, his whimpers and muffled shouts till he lapses into silence, too exhausted to do much else than lay limp and take a witcher's punches and kicks, take a witcher's hatred. 

Somewhere behind them, he hears Lambert utter a single  _ fuck _ , only to be ordered back into line.

He can't, he can't fucking do this, it's—"I'm sorry." Blue eyes snap up at him,  _ bright _ with shock, so bright it makes Geralt's throat tighten at how dull they are on the usual, how dull he's made them. He's on his feet and jogging back to training before neither of them can say anything more and the scent of Jaskier's tears feels like poison burning down his throat.

He slips into the library that afternoon, finding solace in the quiet room to peruse books and lose himself to a world where he hasn’t fucked up so terribly. Calloused fingertips trace over spines, looking into a tale of faeries. He finds himself so enraptured by joy and mischief, so much so that he doesn’t hear the footfalls of a sprint.

"What did you say to him?" Lambert shoves him into a bookshelf, teeth bared as he looks up at Geralt—"What the _ fuck _ did you say to him, he won't fucking  _ talk to us _ — what did you do!" Funnily enough, his first instinct is to shush him; they are in a library after all. 

"I said sorry," his voice is hushed, in shame rather than respect for the rules.

Lambert stares at him, furious eyes burning into his face. “I don’t believe you. You  _ asshole _ .” His fist is raised and Geralt closes his eyes, knowing full well he deserves this and worse.

“It’s not worth it.” Eskel rests a hand on Lambert’s elbow, quick from where he’d been but a shelf over, “Come on Lamb.” Lambert sneers at him, but follows Eskel out of the room nonetheless.

They make it clear that he’s not invited to their table that evening and Geralt has never felt more alone in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!! Comments give me joy <333


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert go through the trials. Geralt comes home to Julian's arms, thought the boy doesn't know exactly who his new friend is.

The stars are bright tonight, and Geralt takes care to wrap the black linen around his face, tucking his light blonde hair underneath it. His amber eyes glow as brightly as the galaxy above them, and with his black ensemble and face hidden, Julian has no chance of knowing it’s  _ him. _

Julian’s already sparring, wooden blade cutting to the air as he ducks and rolls, parrying with an invisible partner. Geralt unsheathes his own wooden sword from where it’s tucked into his belt, and Julian doesn’t notice him till their swords clash.

“Hi,” Julian says, breathless as they cross swords, the blunt sound of wood clashing, “You’re not Eskel are you?” Geralt twists his sword under the boy’s, dogging as Julian thrusts his sword towards his face. “Didn’t know we’re making this a usual thing, especially after you ran away.” Geralt bites back a grunt and Julian doesn’t say much else, either, not till they’re both grimy and sweaty, laying down on the chipped stone floor of the training ground, not too far away from where Geralt’d been blasted away by Eskel’s signs. 

“Was the dandelion atop my pillow from you?” Geralt looks down at the boy, blue eyes peering up with the light of the stars. He nods, finding himself smiling back as Julian quirks his lips up. “I was nice. My Nana used to call me  _ Jaskier _ , elven for dandelion.” They lay under the galaxy and Geralt stares up at the heavens, trying to comprehend his own actions, how he’d let his hate for the boy consume him— he’d been jealous of his easy going nature enough to snuff it.

“Will you find me another?” Geralt nods, and watches over the boy as he slips into sleep. 

  
  


It’s unsettling, knowing you’re about to die, and willingly walking into it anyways. Looking forward to it, even— everyone’s faces are pale, but excitement thrums in the air. _Three out of ten boys_. _What if I’m one of them?_ _What if I’m reborn a hero?_ All the boys here are pitiful fucks, abandoned or orphaned, or claimed through the law of surprise. Geralt knows where they’re coming from; he’s just as pitiful, after all.

Long ago, Geralt had wanted to be a knight. He remembers the feel of mud between bare feet, and the twig in his hand in place of a sword; he remembers his mother’s laughter, how she’d taken up a branch in turn, and had fought him (he’d won). Geralt doesn’t think of her often. The memory his mother’s love betraying him is too much, too fresh, and he doubts it’ll ever heal. 

The lunch hall is somber, a hundred boys filled with anxiety, and another hundred younger boys filled with the same. Now, Julian’s fear mingles in seamlessly, and Geralt doesn’t know if the stench of his fear is for Lambert’s and Eskel’s lives, or of Geralt. They won’t be back for months yet, if they make it back at all. Eskel rubs a comforting hand over Geralt’s back, and he huddles closer. It’s been weeks since he’s last sat with them, but he needs his brothers now, and his brothers need him. Julian picks at his food as per usual, and the rest of the boys do the same. 

They have the evening off, at least, to spend either the last hours of life in peace. He follows Eskel and Lambert down a path, Julian in the lead. They walk, quiet save for the gravel that crunches under their boots, and the birds that sing a goodbye song. Julian won’t go into the trials for a year yet; for Geralt, the birdsong sounds like death-chimes. Flowers grow in a litter on either side of the path, and he absentmindedly picks dandelions, wild sunflowers, daisies, and snapdragons, weaving them into a wreath as they walk, enjoy the sunshine against their skin— the world is ever-more beautiful when Geralt realizes he might not see it again. 

They settle into a clearing, Julian tucked against a tree. Geralt lies flat on his back, staring up at the sun, and his brothers tuck themselves into either of his sides. A wolf-pile, and Geralt knows that they might not ever have one again. When the sun begins to dip, they rise, and Lambert pulls them into a painfully tight hug. “Better see you fucks in a couple months.” Eskel chuckles, and Geralt just holds them tighter. 

They’re quiet as they walk back towards Kaer Morhen, and before they disperse for bed, Geralt turns to Julian. The boy bows his head, limbs loose and ready for Geralt to drag him away and beat him senseless— he sets the crown of flowers atop Julian’s head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and he leaves without another word. 

The trials are agony, but they’re nothing compared to pain he feels at the litter of dead bodies around him. He can’t see, can’t hear around the pain that makes his teeth ache, his voice hoarse so hoarse from screaming that he doubts it’ll ever sound the same, if his vocal cords don’t rip entirely. Hands tuck under his arms, and he’s dragged away before he can look for his brothers; he’s tied down, and he’s not even given the courtesy of unconsciousness as they pump more mutations into him. 

  
  


“I didn’t think you’d come back. You didn’t come see me when Lambert and Eskel got back, thought you were dead.” Julian sheathes his dagger, its sharp blade hissing as it slips into its scabbard. “Oh, you’ve got golden eyes now,” his fingers come to cup Geralt’s jaw— he can feel the warmth of his fingertips through the black binding Geralt covers his face and hair gone stark white. 

The boy hasn’t changed; Geralt hasn’t seen him in months. His own voice has gone hoarse with screaming, and the bone-deep ache of the mutagens won’t leave him for decades yet. “Sorry.” He grimaces at the sound; he can talk to the boy at least, without fear he might be recognized. He hasn’t said a word since the trials, hasn’t dared. Julian grins at him, and Geralt stiffens as he’s pulled into a hug, the scent of happy chamomile so incredibly strong. He feels tears prick at his eyes, a sob escape his lips as he wraps his own arms around the boy. Geralt hadn’t thought that he could cry after the trials; he hadn’t before them, but here stands, wrapped in Julian’s embrace as tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Are you okay?” Geralt nods into the crook of his neck.

“Hurts,” he grunts, and Julian holds him closer. 

There’s a scent of sadness in the air, alongside the happiness and Geralt doesn’t know what it means. “We won’t spar today; lay down, watch the stars with me?” He nods. The stone of courtyard is chill against their backs, but Julian takes his hand into his, and traces paths down his palms as they stare up at the sky. “I love talking. Do you mind if I do? I haven’t talked in so long, not like I used to.” 

Geralt covers the hitch of his breath with a cough, stomach churning with guilt and his heart running with joy. “Yes.” 

Julian smiles, and Geralt can see it in the dark despite the clouds that dot the night sky. “Today morning, I was in the kitchen with Vesemir and he taught me how to make sweet buns! Now, don’t go around telling anyone, he said it was our secret, anyways—” 

He chatters on, and Geralt listens, marveling at the fact that he’s alive to hear Julian chatter, and knowing he’ll never get enough of the sound of his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im probabblllyyy not gonna finish this in four chapters, huh?

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi on tumblr (@persony-pepper)](https://persony-pepper.tumblr.com)
> 
> Leave me a comment ;) as a treat ;))


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